


Like the Comfort of Home

by HungeringForHunkles (3HobbitsInATrenchcoat)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, F/M, Female Reader, Penis In Vagina Sex, Self-Insert, Soft sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/pseuds/HungeringForHunkles
Summary: While the rest of the family has gone to investigate the Gravity Falls winter fair, you and Ford have the house to yourself. Ford suggested cocoa and kitten documentaries, but you had something a little more intimate in mind..."Your name falls from Ford's lips like a prayer, like a sigh, like the comfort of home."
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	Like the Comfort of Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a friend that has had a rough few weeks and deserves all the warm Ford cuddles (and everything else that comes with them. Come get your man.) I hope this is soft enough, I tried really hard to make it soft.
> 
> Fluffy owl science man boning for all your fluffy owl science man boning needs.

Having Stanford Pines as a partner means life is never boring, but it also means you have little time to exist as a couple. So when his brother had mentioned some holiday festival in town, you had begged off of the trip and gently kicked Ford under the kitchen table when he looked like he was going to ask to go. For once this winter everything is blissfully quiet, the house finally empty save for the two of you. Stan had winked and promised to keep the crowd out late as he herded everyone out the door. You’d flushed a little pink, but appreciated his help none-the-less.

Ford’s shoulders droop with a sigh as the tail-lights of the Stanleymobile disappear into the trees. You sidle up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting your head against his shoulder. He glances down, a small smile playing across his lips, and pulls you a little closer.

“Whole house to ourselves for once,” you say after a long moment of silence, broken only by the soft _shhh_ of snow floating in through the aging walls of the Shack.

“Mmm, seems so,” says Ford. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You were awfully insistent that we stay home, are you feeling quite well? We could curl up on the couch with some cocoa and that documentary on kitten rescues I found last week.”

You’d been hoping for a little less innocent of an activity but snuggling against Ford under a blanket sounds lovely as well. “I did want to spend some time with just you…” you say, tilting your head back to catch Ford’s lips in a gentle kiss. “Your family is lovely, but I feel like I’ve barely gotten time alone with you this week.”

Ford chuckles and you can feel the vibrations of the movement in your entire body. You desperately want to climb the man like a tree, but you restrain yourself. If he wants to cuddle and watch nature documentaries, that’s what you’ll do; no matter how much your nether regions are tingling.

You’re distracted enough by that thought that when Ford picks you up off the ground you let out a startled squeak. “What are you doing?” You flail a bit at the sudden change, but your partner merely smiles and carries you out of the kitchen to deposit you on the sofa, a pile of soft blankets waiting on the end.

“There’s some more suitable lounging clothes on top of the blankets. I’m going to heat some water for cocoa, why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” He smiles at you and you feel yourself flush across your cheeks and ears as he turns and disappears back into the kitchen. Even his most innocent smiles turn your legs to jelly and you’re suddenly glad you’re already sitting down.

Curious, you take the chosen clothes from the top of the pile and your flush deepens as you find one of Ford’s own tee-shirts (an extra-soft ancient college souvenir large enough to wear as a dress) and a pair of your worn flannel sleeping pants (the mothman ones that never fail to make Ford chuckle). With a furtive glance back towards the kitchen doorway you hurry to strip off your jeans and sweater, shoving them under the coffee table to be dealt with later. You debate for a moment whether you want to leave your sports bra on, but you can already see that it will do nothing to prevent your cold nipples from showing through the thin tee-shirt fabric. You hurriedly yank it over your head and stuff it under your sweater.

With a shiver you pull on the far more comfortable clothes and wrap yourself in the thickest blanket of the lot, a fairly new quilt that Ford had pieced on his last voyage. It’s all soft browns and reds, reminiscent of the forest in fall or of his ever-present maroon sweater.

Speaking of which… Ford steps back into the room, a mug of cocoa in each hand. He is indeed wearing his sweater, though you notice he’s traded his usual slacks for a pair of soft grey sweatpants. You hold out an arm, opening the blanket for him to slide in beside you, setting the mugs down on the table.

“Thank you, my dear.” He leans over and presses a kiss against your temple, snagging the remote with one hand while sliding his other arm around your back to pull you in beside him. Soos, being slightly more in step with the times than Stan, had invested in multiple streaming services over the last year and its only a few button clicks before “ _Karolyn’s Kitten Kapers_ ” is playing softly in the background.

You try hard not to pout, you really do. In the back of your mind you’d been hoping he was kidding about the kitten documentary. Sure, you wanted to watch it, but not right now. Not when the house was empty of prying eyes and family drama and… you feel Ford’s hand settle gently on your hip, brushing the edge of the tee-shirt up to stroke his thumb along the waistband of your pajama pants.

“I may have made the cocoa a bit too hot,” he says, almost conversationally as his thumb dips below the elastic and runs along the warm skin underneath. You can’t help but shiver, looking up to find him gazing at you with a considering gleam in his eyes. “And I do believe that I started our marathon a season early.”

Your eyes flick towards the television and sure enough, the theme sequence for the season you’d finished last week is spread across the screen. “Mmm, seems so,” you say, echoing his previous statement. “You were awfully insistent we drink cocoa and watch television. Did you change your mind?”

The gleam in his eyes grows mischievous as he leans in and lets his breath tickle your ear. “I never said we couldn’t do both, love.”

Your own breath catches in your throat as he scoops you, quilt and all, into his lap and presses a firm kiss against your lips. You’re sitting sideways, which just won’t do, so with a bit of a wiggle you manage to get your legs straddling his lap, arms looped around his neck as he rests his hands on your hips to keep you steady. The blanket around your shoulders is suddenly entirely too warm and you shrug it off, letting it fall to the floor. Ford chuckles a bit and leans back in for another kiss, hands sliding down to gently cup your ass and give it a squeeze. You gasp and feel his lips stretch into a smile.

“Eager already, are we?” His lips drift away and down your jaw to just below your ear and he lets his hands settle back onto your hips, just firm enough to keep you from rocking forward. “We have plenty of time, my dear. Let’s make the most of it.”

Ford’s breath is warm against your neck as you tilt your head back and let him press a line of soft kisses across your throat. When your breath hitches and your fingers move to grip his shoulders he nips playfully at your jaw.

“Patience, dear.”

“Fine,” you huff out, a little annoyed at how slow your partner is moving. The tingling between your legs has grown into a persistent ache and you long for friction, but Ford’s hands are still firm around your hips. With a shuddering sigh you give in, slumping against him as he continues to kiss your neck, pausing now and then to whisper in your ear about “how beautiful you are, how well you fit into my lap, how prettily you gasp under my attention.” Fairly soon it’s too much and you move your hands to the sides of his face, pulling him in for a kiss that starts out bruising and grows into a bit of a sloppy, open-mouthed affair.

You can feel the stubble of his persistent 5 o’clock shadow scraping against your face but you don’t care as the kiss distracts him enough that his grip loosens. With a grin of triumph you cant your hips forward, grinding down on the erection you can feel the heat of through his sweatpants. Ford breaks off the kiss with a groan, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

“This is what you get for being a tease, Ford,” you say, the gentle ribbing in your tone completely overshadowed by how wrecked your voice sounds. You haven’t even really gotten started yet and you’re already breathing heavier than normal.

“Yes, well,” Ford says into your shoulder, voice muffled. “Can you really blame me?”

You suppose not, so you only respond with shrug and another teasing shift of your hips. He groans again and his hands move away from your hips to slide up to your sides, palms warm against your flesh. The two of you stay like that for a long minute, rocking against each other, Ford’s mouth finding yours again in a kiss that is becoming a little more desperate as time goes on.

It comes as no surprise when Ford wraps both arms around you and maneuvers you so that you’re laying on the sofa, head pillowed on the pile of blankets, Ford kneeling between your legs. He sits back for a moment and drinks in the sight of you: hair in disarray, mouth swollen with kisses, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy. You look back at him and decide _the two of us are wearing far too much clothing._

“Ford, dear, I have a proposal.” The words leave your mouth before your brain quite has time to catch up, but that’s ok. Ford merely raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. “If you lose your sweater I’ll…” You don’t want to lose your shirt, you’re still too cold in the winter air, but… “If you lose your sweater I’ll ditch my pants.”

You don’t even try to bite back your delighted laugh as you watch Ford’s eyes widen and he scrambles to pull off his sweater, depositing it on the back of the couch as you shimmy out of your flannel pajama pants. He sits back on his heels and watches you, biting his lip as his eyes skim up your legs and across your body to meet your smiling gaze.

“How did I get so lucky?” He breathes, bracing one hand beside your head as he leans in to kiss you, letting the other hand slide up your bare leg and under your shirt. You arch into his touch with a stuttered moan as his calloused palm cups your breast, thumb rubbing over a nipple stiff with cold and arousal.

“Mmmm, one.. one could argue I’m the lucky one,” you manage to gasp out, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands. You let your fingers linger, thumbs sweeping over flushed cheeks as you lean into his languid kisses. He hums an agreement, moving to kiss your jaw again as he lets his hand sweep down across your belly to settle on your upper thigh. Despite yourself, your hips twitch and he chuckles into your ear.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” His voice rumbles and you swallow hard with a frantic nod as his hand dips lower between your legs. “I have the time, lets see how long you can last.”

You feel him push aside the thin cotton of your panties, fingers swiping between folds already slick with desire. You can’t help the whimper as he barely brushes against your clit, not providing any meaningful friction as the ache between your legs intensifies. His hand retreats and you peel your eyes open in time to see him lift it to his mouth, eyes twinkling at you as he licks slowly up two fingers. Your whimper becomes a gasp as he leans back in, pressing fingers slick with saliva past your panties and into your aching cunt. His hand moves agonizingly slowly, just two fingers pumping in and out in a slow but steady rhythm that soon has your back arching against the couch cushions and your fingers scrambling for purchase on Ford’s shoulders.

“I… I should nev… never have a...accused you of being, being a tease,” you gasp out as he slides his thumb up to circle your clit, fingers curling inside to brush against sensitive nerve endings. “Be… because if that was t...teasing? This is, is torture.”

“You think so?” Ford’s voice is deceptively calm, you can hear the strain if you know what you’re listening for, the quiver in his voice that hints towards how much he is holding back.. If you pry your eyes open for just a moment you can see the blush that spreads across his cheeks and upper chest, silvery scars and faded tattoos all the more prominent against the flushed skin. You reach up and run gentle fingers across one of the deeper marks, a ragged, ropy slice across his left shoulder. Not even pausing in the movements of his own fingers, Ford turns his head to the side and kisses the back of your hand.

“Don’t worry about me just yet, darling. Do you think you can take one more?” He crooks his fingers for emphasis and your head snaps back as you keen into the still air. Sucking in a deep breath to calm yourself down you nod, not trusting your voice. Ford hums an acknowledgment and you feel a third thick finger align itself at your entrance. Despite your familiarity with Ford’s body, you’re never quite prepared for how full even two of his fingers make you feel, so a third pressing in feels like you’re being split open. You always brace for it to hurt a little and it never does, just feels so impossibly full and _right_ as his fingers slip against your g-spot and you feel yourself tighten and twitch around him.

“That’s it,” says Ford, leaning close to your ear, breath tickling the shell. His fingers keep a steady slide, fingertips pressed firmly across the aching bundle of nerves and thumb rubbing circles on your clit. “There’s no one here but us. Be a good girl for me.”

That’s really all it takes for you to cum, shaking apart on his fingers as you turn your head and sob your release into the blankets. Ford patiently strokes you through your orgasm, only drawing his fingers back when you reach down to shove them away. He wipes them off on his pants-leg, reaching out with his other hand to smooth your sweaty hair out of your eyes.

“There now, darling. Is that better?” His voice is soothing but his gaze is hungry as he lets his eyes rake down your body, taking in your tangled hair spread across the blankets and your wrinkled tee-shirt hiked up to your belly button, exposing your soaked panties to the open air. You find yourself squirming a little under his attentive stare and your own gaze flicks down to where he’s palming himself through his sweatpants. The material does little to hide how hard he is and even as you watch he hooks his fingers in the waistband to shimmy the pants down to his hips.

Your breath catches as he uncovers the dark trail of hair leading down to his dick. He’s just about to release himself when he stops, tilting his head to look at you. You let out a disappointed whine and he smiles, gently reaching out to bend your leg out of his way so he can get off the sofa.

“It’s a little difficult to divest myself of pants when I’m trapped on the couch,” he observes calmly, even though his hands shake with anticipation as he shoves the pants down his thighs and steps out of them. Your gaze is the hungry one now, eyes sweeping over the scars you had caressed earlier, down his lightly furred chest and towards the darker hair surrounding his erection. He’s still got one hand on himself, stroking unhurriedly just to take the edge off.

Still feeling the aftershocks of your first orgasm, you stretch out, humming a low inquisitive sound in Ford’s direction. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Use your words, dear. I’m not a mind-reader.”

 _Damn sassy man._ Well, if he can sass you, you can sass right back. It takes a couple tries to get your mouth moving, but eventually you manage. “It’s cold over here. Know how we can fix that?”

He smirks, even as he gets back on the couch and kneels between your legs. “There are blankets for that, darling. Did you want something else?”

 _Huh, he really is going to make you ask for it._ You feel a flush rise in your cheeks and spread to your ears. Why is it so hard to ask, even though you literally came clamped around his fingers mere moments ago? Face burning and breath stammering through your lips, you finally ask, “Stanford, please. Could you please fuck me? I’ve been waiting all day.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he smiles down at you and you can feel your insides melting a little. How does one man have any right to be so handsome? Ford moves a little closer, then stills before grimacing and reaching down to dig through the pile of pants on the floor. “Almost forgot one little thing… Ah ha!” He triumphantly holds up a little foil square.

You can’t help the giggle that spills from your lips and you cover your face with both hands as your whole body shakes. Ford pauses in the act of rolling on the condom, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

“I… I’m fine,” you manage to gasp out through your laughter. “You were just… so excited. It was cute.”

You expect the eyebrow to raise further and are pleasantly surprised when, instead, Ford’s cheeks flush even darker pink, color spreading to the tips of his ears. He coughs. “Yes, well. I… I do get a bit excited. I’m… I’m glad you think I’m…” he trails off, voice muttered and quiet. “You think I’m cute.” You didn’t think it was possible but he flushes rosier, biting his lip and letting his eyes slide off of you. You realize that this grown man, your love, is embarrassed at the sentiment and you smile gently up at him.

“Hey, if you’re allowed to find me beautiful, I’m allowed to find you cute. Thems the rules.” You wiggle a bit, bumping his hip with your bare foot. “Now. Are you going to fuck me or not? You’re blushy and adorable, yes. But you’re also hot as hell and I needed you inside me five minutes ago.”

Ford chuckles deep in his throat and leans over you, one hand by your head to keep him from crushing you, the other lining himself up. “Five minutes ago you were falling apart on my fingers, dearheart. Technically I _was_ inside you.” His breath tickles across your ear and you swat at his shoulder.

“Semantics.” You say. Or, you try to say. You get the first syllable out and the rest is lost to a gasping sob as you feel the thick head of his cock push into you. Your hands lift, almost of their own accord, and scrabble for purchase on his waist, pulling him close as he slowly seats himself fully inside of you. By the time he’s bottomed out, you’re both breathing hard and he swallows thickly as he braces his shaking arms on the sofa behind you.

“Give me a moment,” he pants out, voice wrecked. “Somehow I always forget how tight you are and I fear if I move too soon this will be over before it’s truly begun.”

Stilling the tempting wiggle that you were about to perform, you instead reach up and lay a gentle hand on his cheek. Your voice is shaky but soft. “Take all the time you need.”

“Mm.” Ford hums his answer, turning his head to press a kiss onto your palm. He draws out just a little and then sinks back in with a shuddering sigh. “You’re perfect, darling. So good to me.”

With little words of encouragement, Ford sets a slow but steady rhythm. He pushes you gently towards another orgasm simply by murmuring praises in your ear and the steady slide of his cock between your folds. As your breath starts hitching and the twitching of your hips takes on a desperate edge, he grips the back of the sofa with one hand and slides the other between your thighs, adding some much needed friction to your aching clit.

You groan at the sensation. “Fuck, Stanford. I’m… I’m so close.”

“I know, dear. You’ve been so good.” He flicks his thumb across the bundle of nerves and you gasp out something halfway between a curse and his name. “Such a good girl for me.” Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Cum for me, darling. You are so beautiful when you are lost in pleasure.”

The combination of his voice and his fingers and his dick push you over the edge. The coiling heat that has been building between your legs bursts in a torrent of fired nerve endings racing up your spine and down your legs. With a shuddering, wrecked sob you feel yourself clench around Ford, distantly registering the choked moan he makes in response. Your hips twitch helplessly against his, legs clamped around him to bring him impossibly nearer.

“Oh, _fuck…_ ” You know Ford is close by the way his voice catches on the curse, by the way his steady rhythm has taken on a shudder. He sits back on his heels, large hands falling to your inner thighs just above your knees. With gentle pressure he spreads your legs a little farther apart, though you want to clamp them shut against twitching over-stimulation. “Just… just a few more moments, love” pants Ford, eyes half-lidded and face flushed red from cheeks to chest with pleasure. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice as each thrust punches out another wrung-out sob. Ford smiles shakily down at you and presses forward again, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, like a sigh, like the comfort of home. A few more thrusts and he’s freezing, a stuttering moan accompanying his shaking body as he cums, eyes screwed shut and lip caught between his own teeth.

His whole body trembles as his white-knuckled grip on the back of the sofa is the only thing keeping him upright. Gathering your strength you reach up towards him and that is really all the encouragement he needs. Still buried inside you, Ford drapes himself across your chest, tucking his face into the crook of your neck with a soft sigh. You wrap your arms around him, one hand buried in his soft gray hair. The two of you lay curled around each other for several long moments, basking in the afterglow as your breathing and heart rates even out into slow relaxation.

Your fingers twitch in Ford’s hair and he makes a soft content sound, nuzzling closer to your neck. With a chuckle, you fluff the strands and then run your hand softly down his spine, fingers grazing over familiar smooth patches of old healed scars.

Ford sighs quietly, breath tickling your neck, before pushing himself upright and pressing a kiss to your lips. “I suppose I should get up and tidy our mess before we are found out.”

Reluctantly you remove your hands from his back, arching to stretch your arms above your head. “Sounds like a good idea, dear. Your family might suspect, but I doubt they want our afternoon activities confirmed.” You have to stifle a laugh as the blush that had started to fade returns full force to his cheeks. “Come on then, get up so I can put my pants back on.”

“Hmph. Who needs pants?” says Ford even as he withdraws, making a face as he ties off the condom and starts padding towards the hall bathroom to dispose of it. “In dimension 68°Σ the local population…”

“...found pants to be sacrilegious, yes you’ve told me,” you interrupt with a grin, peeling your sweaty tee-shirt over your head and chucking it at Ford as he reappears from the hallway. He protests but catches it all the same. On you it is a dress, but as Ford pulls it on it sits just shy of too tight across his chest.

You scoop your pants off the floor, kicking your ruined panties under the other pile of laundry for later. After shimmying into them you reach for Ford’s sweater, hand pausing as you raise an eyebrow questioningly.

“Go ahead, my dear,” he says with a gentle smile as he pulls on his own sweatpants and sinks back down onto the couch. You make a pleased noise and tug the sweater over your head, long sleeves falling to cover your hands and deep cowl neck big enough to bury your whole face in. It smells faintly of woodsmoke and coffee, a reflection of it’s owner.

Ford pats the sofa next to him and you curl up into his side, cheek against his chest as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He reaches down and pulls the quilt from where it had fallen to the floor, spreading it across your laps and tucking the edges around you. You make grabby hands for the cocoa, cool enough to drink but still warm enough for comfort, and Ford hands you yours with a deep chuckle that vibrates through his rib-cage and into you.

“Our timing was perfect this time, darling,” he says, pressing buttons on the remote to move you to the correct episode of the kitten rescue documentary. As the new season starts he bends the scant few inches to press a kiss to the top of your head. “This was a perfect afternoon to stay in.”

You hum agreement, settling in for cocoa and kittens. By the time the rest of the family return home, the two of you lean against one another, softly snoring to the backdrop of the winter evening, empty cups of cocoa dangling from your fingers.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That's it. That's all I've got. Writing ~~soft~~ smut was far more challenging than I thought it would be but I DONE DID IT.


End file.
